


Hellperion

by Marshmellowtoast



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Body Horror, Deal with a Devil, Demonic Possession, Disembowelment, Gore, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmellowtoast/pseuds/Marshmellowtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well look at that. I'm not dead, but just shit at posting and an asshole. </p>
<p>Unbetad until my beta gets around to it.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rehearsal space was an odd one, considering the theme of the play. An older church that kept its doors open to the public, willing to rent out the space to anyone who needed it. He didn't remember the whole synopsis, but Tim had mentioned there was a lot of devil worship and gore. Timothy had approached him at work about coming with to the first few rehearsals, claiming that the moral support would help him relax around new people. He was still new to both the city and the company they worked for and didn’t really know anyone other than Rhys. He had agreed readily enough, he remembered what starting out here had been like and would have jumped on any opportunity to make a friend. 

A last minute project at the end of the day, meant that Tim had to go ahead alone anyway, with reassurances that Rhys would only be ten minutes behind. Ten turned swiftly to twenty and then a full half hour after they had agreed to meet, Rhys tried his best to sneak into the building. He could hear chanting and some convincing pleas for help mixing with desperate sobs as he moved further inside. The rehearsal looks like it is already in full swing, the stage littered with props, lit up dramatically with spot lights and candles. There were several people on stage, all circled around a table that Tim had been restrain to, all of them chanting nonsensically. 

Rhys found himself a seat in one of the pews, close enough to chat whenever the scene was done and apologize for being late. Tim had only given him a brief description of the play, something about a man making a deal with the devil to win back the souls of his dead family. It was a small part, but he had been extremely proud of the chance to put his acting degree to use. 

One figure moved into the circle, motioning for silence for the others and slipping an ornate knife from its sheath. They took up the chant alone, brandishing the knife with a practiced ease and gesturing to Tim. Each time the knife pressed close to his bared skin, he would finch back as far as his bonds would allow, sobbing and pleading for them to stop. For a first rehearsal, Rhys wanted to clap at how well put together everything was, the level of skill involved with in acting was jaw dropping. He would never have pegged Tim as the type to act in the first place, let alone have him on the edge of his seat for a first run. 

The chant rouse to a crescendo, and with one quick flick of the wrist, the knife drawn across his belly, spilling the soft muscle and skin easily. Without the tight wall of flesh keeping them in place, Tim's organs began to push out, inched forward by every pain wracked sob from his small chest. 

Rhys couldn't hold back as gasp, the realistic effects and cries making his stomach turn. The sharp sound drew Tim's attention, to where he was sitting and his sobs turned again to desperate screams for help. He begged, pulling at the restraints even though his wrists were raw and bleeding. 

"Rhys! Rhys, please make it stop! Make them stop" He cried.

A sharp curl of dread wormed its way into his stomach at his friends cries. The coppery scent of blood finally carried over from the stage to where he was sitting and he felt bile begin to work its way up his throat. 

The "actors" took note of him for the first time, two of them hopping off the stage and pulling out knives of their own. Rhys scrambled from the pew, unsure of which way run. The leader broke from his chant to curse at the two who had moved, calling for them to return to the circle immediately. 

A and sharp crack and a smell like gunpowder and sulfur filled the room, mixing with the thick scent of blood that was leaking into every corner. A clawed hand cupped the leaders chin and turned him to face the table once more. Tim was crouched on the table in a pool of his own blood, face warped with an expression and features not his own. Cracks had formed in the skin of his forehead where a pair of wicked sharp horns, (or were they antlers?), had forced their way through. 

“Too late for that now, kiddo.” Said Tim, his nails digging in just enough to draw blood and smiling all the while. Letting go, he turned his attention the rest of the group still cluttered around the table. Hopping down, he paced around the small circle and stopped in front of one of them, placing hand on their shoulder. 

“So what did you intend to call me up here for anyhow?” He asked.

The “actor”’s response was too quiet for him to hear from his place out in the pews, but he could see their shoulders shaking. Tim was nodding along with him and once he was finished, pressed a hand to his chest in reassurance. 

“There’s no way I would have helped you assholes by choice anyway, but you went and fucked up the ritual so hard it doesn’t really matter no, does it?” He laughed, digging his nails into their shoulders and chest. They brought their hands up to pull at the one in their chest, but with a sickening snap of bone, their arm fell limp and useless a their side. Another snap, and they jerked in his grip, slumping to the ground in a heap with only a soft whine. 

Tim flicked his wrists, sending a fine spray of blood towards the settled pool on the table, and out onto one of the other frightened cultists. 

"Alright, kiddos." He said, clapping his hands, and rubed them together, smiling. "Who's next?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look at that. I'm not dead, but just shit at posting and an asshole. 
> 
> Unbetad until my beta gets around to it.

There was a shuffling of motion as the cultists took steps away from him. The fastest of the group were already scampering from the stage, nearly tripping down the aisles as they fled towards the doors. With a casual flick of Tim’s wrist, the doors closed, catching the out stretched arm of the first cultist to reach it, clamping down on the bone with splintering force. The others just behind, reeled back instinctively only narrowly avoiding a comic pile up. 

Tim tilted his head to watch the scene, licking his lips and chuckling quietly. 

“Sorry kiddos, don't think it will be quite that easy to get away from this.” 

Scared into action, one of the stragglers on the platform threw himself at Tim, trying to stab him. With ease he blocked the wild lunge, grabbing the cultists wrist, he snapped the fragile bones there and chuckled as the knife fell from their limp grasp. 

“Aww looks like we have a volunteer.” He said, holding up the flail wrist in a mock raised hand. “Any ideas on how you want to go out?”

The cultist only whimpered, staring in shock at the mess that was once his wrist, too petrified to even pull the limp appendage away. 

Tim clicked his tongue in frustration, clear not pleased with being ignored. He reached with his freehand and took hold of the cultists throat. With the same brute force he had been using to snap bones he clamped down on their neck, the frail vertebra snapping under his fingers. 

He cursed and looked from the damage he had caused to his hand. “Sorry buddy. Not quite what I meant to do there. Wanted to strangle you, not just crush your esophagus straight out.” 

The cultist didn't respond,too busy with their own desperate attempts to breath. Unimpressed with the wet supping noise he got as a response, Tim dropped them in a heap on the floor and turned to stare at the group who had been frantically trying to open the door. Hopping down off the stage he moved towards the group, passing Rhys in the pews with only a wink to acknowledge him. 

As he approached the group, a few of it's members lunged at him, hoping that in numbers they could accomplish where there companions had failed. A pair of them managed to pin down his arms, another came at him from behind, trying to choke him. Tim began to laugh, the sound not impeded at all by the arm wrapped around his throat. He was nearly shaking with it as a fourth cultist ventured from the group, their hands shaking and clutching a dagger. With a muttered prayer they jammed the knife up and under his ribs, slicing through his diaphragm and puncturing his lung. Tim didn’t even flinch, and continued to laugh as the cultist pulled their hand out of his shaking chest. 

“That was fun cupcake, but d-did you really think that you were gunna hurt me with that little pig sticker? I-I don’t know if you noticed but there wasn’t really anything in the way there. Not much left in here to damage.” He chuckled. “Time for a bit of practice.”

Not waiting for a reaction from them, he sunk his teeth into the arm around his neck. He didn’t even need move after that, the cultist did it for him, jerking their arm away in surprise and tearing a chunk of flesh out as he moved. From there it looked like kids play to free himself, yanking his arms from their hold. Cracking his knuckles and neck, he grabbed the neck of the one who had stabbed him, holding them lightly in his grip. 

Rhys turned away quickly, curling his knees up to his chest, and hiding his face, trying to ignore the sounds coming from behind him. He didn’t know how long he sat there, hearing the slow changes,the quick cracks and curses from Tim as he tried to get the pressure right, to the later deaths that seemed to take hours of hiccupping and sobbing. What caught his attention again was the click shoes back towards the stage. Back towards the pew he was sitting in. 

____

There was no time to run at this point, and Rhys hardly felt like he could, too shaken from what he had just witness to even move as Tim approached him. He felt someone sit down on the bench beside him, and still refused to move, trying to keep from shaking or making a sound. 

“I can see you princess. Curling into a cute little ball ain’t gunna help you hide.” Said Tim, his voice calm for the first time in this whole hellish scene. “ and ‘m not planning to hurt you, so you might as well relax a bit so we can talk.” 

Slowly, Rhys looked up from the shield of his knees to look at the man beside him. Tim’s appearance was nearly the same as it was when he had looked away, ruined beyond comprehension, sprayed and flecked with blood. His stomach curled when he saw the hilt of the knife, still press up into his lung. He looked away quickly, whining and trying not to be sick. 

Tim seemed to notice the look, and followed his gaze to where the knife was still stuck. 

“Ha. Well damn, I thought that feel out earlier.” He mumbled. A squelch from from beside him, and then a clang as the knife dropped onto the stone floor. “There. Okay. All better now pumpkin. Well...sorta. Anyway, let’s chat.”

Rhys refused to move, and Tim clicked his tongue in frustration. A clawed hand fisted in his hair and pulled him away from his comforting darkness, and back to looking at Tim and the horror of the room. 

“That better isn’t it? Okay. Now. We gotta get down to brass tax here. Ripping these losers apart has been fun, but i kinda pushed our time limit working out that last bit of tension there. So here’s the deal.” He said, letting go of Rhys’ hair and petting down the ruffled patch. “Your friend isn’t doing too well, and that time limit i mentioned extends to him as well. As soon as I go, he goes. And if I’m being honest here Kitten, I don’t want to go. So that is where you come in. I need you to make a little contract with me.”

“A-a contract?” He stuttered, trying not to let his voice crack in fear.

“Ya pumpkin. Could be anything you want. Hell, if you wanted to sign it now to keep me here, we can work out the details of what you really want later. Could be fame, money, power, anything your little mortal heart desires. Keep in mind though, that if you don’t this shit might not turn out well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but this scene is a little grim and your friend dying would only add to that. As the last man standing that doesn’t really bode well for you. It’s not like you can really blame it on the guy with no guts.” He said, reaching an arm around Rhys and pulling him in close to his side. 

Rhys paled at the idea of this being blamed on him, unable to look at anything other than Tim’s distorted face. This close he could see the cracks in his skin from where the antlers had forced their way through his skin, how the flecks of blood were drying to match his freckles, and the sharp points of his teeth. 

“T-there’s no way I could have done anything like this. I haven’t got any blood on m-me or even touched anything” He whined, fighting the rising urge to panic. 

“Hmm don't have to convince me. But it's not gunna be that east for everyone else. I'm sure there is an easy way for the police to pin this on you all nice and neat.” Tim offered, his tone anything but comforting. 

“I-I c-can’t have done it. They’ll have to see that somehow. I didn't touch anything other then the pew!” cried Rhys, his voice reaching a frantic volume.   
Tim used the hand still holding him close to stoke his hair in reassurance.

“Like I said kiddo, you don't have to convince me. But they won't believe you if you tried to explain what happened, and who are you gunna blame it on anyway? Some psycho who wandered out into the street? That doesn't look too good.” Chuckled Tim. “look, there is a way out of this. I told you I could help your friend, and I can help you too. Clear this whole mess up so it never happend free of charge, and give you whatever you want in the process. Deal of a lifetime here. But like I said, this has a short time limit on it sweetheart.”

Tim turned in his seat to face him, offering his hand. Rhys stared at the blood coated appendage and the talon like nails attached to it. He offered his own flesh hand in return, and Tim smiled daggers at him as he took it. There was another cracking noise, the smell of ozone, and Rhys felt a burning pain around his wrist as a ring of lines seemed to boil up from under his skin. 

"It's gunna be nice working with you kitten."

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo, someone is a shitlord (http://magicbrojohnson.tumblr.com/) and got this idea into my head and asked me to write it for him. 
> 
> Its not done, but I hope posting this tid bit will prevoke me into working on it. 
> 
> And fill me will determination to continue living in this slew of school work. 
> 
> More tags to come as I notice them or they are pointed out to me.
> 
> Feel free to scream at me at http://marsh-mellow-toast.tumblr.com/


End file.
